


Autumn Wind

by agarwoods



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comedy, Drama, F/M, Palace Romance, Reader-Insert, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agarwoods/pseuds/agarwoods
Summary: You are not Zhinu, and he is not Niulang, and there is nothing of that sort between the two of you that will shatter the Heavens and Earths.[ft. Kouen Ren | Reader | Hakuyuu Ren]Palace Romance fic.Dedicated to Mao.





	Autumn Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've decided to bring this fic over from gotvg. It has been a long time since I originally started this so I've made a lot of revisions since my writing style has also changed. The plot will still be the same as how it was originally outlined so there won't be any changes to that. Mostly I am just fixing up grammar issues and re-writing some minor parts. 
> 
> This fic will be a long-term project with approximately 4 Acts and 4 parts in every act (6-10 chapters in each part), so it'll probably be around 100 chapters or so in the end. I don't have a writing schedule and I'm known to take time off without warning, but I intend to finish this fic one day. 
> 
> Autumn Wind will take place before Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic; the timeline actually matches more accordingly with Sinbad no Bouken. This means that the characters will start off quite young. For reference, the MC will start off at 12 years old. She is the same age as Koumei, with Kouen being 2 years older than them both. Hakuyuu is roughly 18/19 and Hakuren is 16. Please note that the age differences are an important plot fixture to this fic, but I can promise that nothing of impropriety will happen between the MC/Hakuyuu until a more appropriate age. 
> 
> There will be heavy references to Asian (more in particular, Chinese) folklore/mythology/legends, and expect Chinese wordplay/words throughout the story though I'll try to keep that to a minimum. However, please also note that this is because it is hard to retain the same context from one language to another. (For example, Kouen will eventually refer to one of the other characters as -ge/-da ge which is meant to represent the level of respect Kouen has for this particular character. It is most similar to the Japanese -san suffix which I'll elaborate more on when we get to that point.) In any case, I'll leave footnotes whenever I can. 
> 
> Finally, this fic is dedicated to Mao because she inspires me to keep writing for Magi. Not only are her fics lovely, but her personality is as well! 
> 
> Lastly, I hope that you enjoy this fic, and I'll try my best to finish it!! ♥

"You are cruel, Liang Shanbo. You are selfish, and you are a liar, Liang Shanbo."

Donning red, the colour of marriage, she fell to her knees in front of the tombstone. The dirt was still fresh beneath her feet and felt wet against her fingertips. The tears that fell down her face were soon joined by heaven's own tears and she felt the silk fabric covering her body dampen heavily with remorse and regret. 

In spite of the betrayal in front of her for being left alone, she thought, rather than hatred or sadness for the deceased, it was that she was apologetic towards the deceased.

"But the worst being is I," Yingtai said, as she ran her fingertips on the letters engraved into the cool stone. "You are dead and gone, and our fate in this lifetime has ended like we promised. But... would you be mad if I said I still wanted to see you again?"

The Gods struck at that moment and the sky cracked open. In a flash, Liang Shanbo appeared in front of her, a figure of transparent milk. He wore the same smile he always did, boyish and crooked, and held out a hand towards her.

"Then come with me."

That day, rather than a unification of two beings assumed to be, those invited to the marriage procession instead witnessed something even more phenomenal and that was the unification of two beings fated to be. Of two lovers not meant to be in their lifetime on earth, but instead, for an eternity in heaven.

As the two lovers held hands and fell into the earth below, disappearing in front of the witnesses — the two servants, Master Zhu and his wife, the forgotten lover Ma Wencai and his father — the remaining people cried for reasons of their own. Some cried out of empathy, some cried out of anger, and others cried out of sorrow. 

Lightning struck again, and the earth closed up. 

From the grave where Liang Shanbo's body was left grew flowers and vines, peonies that blossomed into butterflies like the ones painted on the silk scarf Yingtai had given to him, their bodies the colour of the flowers from which they birthed from — yellow dyed black at the tips. For a moment, the butterflies danced together, circling around their weeping beloveds, perhaps kissing them goodbye, and ascended towards the sky for an eternity together.

—

Kouen re-read the last page of the book in his hands. He did not understand. This was the third time he had re-read the ending and still, though he understood each and every single letter and word, he could not understand. 

Why would anyone so foolishly throw away their life for the deceased? Both Zhu Yingtai and Liang Shanbo had their lives waiting ahead of them, and yet they still allowed love to destroy them — to ruin them.

He turned the novel over, eyebrows furrowed, gaze carefully dissecting the title and the author. What was even more puzzling was how popular the story had become. In recent weeks, the story had become so popular that books were selling out rapidly, and teahouse retellings were always full of audience. 

For Zhu Yingtai, she had a duty to uphold, and that was to marry the one chosen for her — her betrothed. She should have long given up any sense of love because for someone of her birthright, it was not permitted. Her other choice was to give up her family title and chase after her love. But she did neither up until the last moment.

For Liang Shanbo, his mistake was allowing love to destroy him. For the things he conquered on his own, wasn't it natural that a man of his status deserved much more than a flimsy unrequited love? He should have fought for her if he loved her so much. Instead, he died without ever allowing his feelings to come to light. 

And for Ma Wencai, for someone who claimed to love Yingtai [1], why didn't he do anything to try to attain her love? He stood idly by while she fell in love with someone out and slipped away from his grasp.

Kouen did not understand, not at all. The things like love and let love go made no sense to him. Like all things in the world, love was just another thing to be fought for. Those who stood by and waited for it to come to them would surely be the losers. And, such a result was reflected in the story. Although Yingyai and Shanbo were together in the afterlife, he could not say for certain if he thought it was worth it. What about the aftermath of those still living? To become so crazy in the name of love, was not something that he could reason…

The door suddenly creaked open and wordlessly, Kouen lifted his gaze up from the confusing book. He remained quiet upon recognizing the figure that crept into his room, back towards him, quietly trying to shut the doors close. 

Unknown to you, Kouen was watching carefully, a flicker of amusement playing on his lips. When you finally turned around and caught his gaze, you squeaked in surprise, and jumped in surprise. 

"You scared me!" you said.

He scoffed, leaned back into his chair, and reminded, "This is my room."

You said nothing in response, choosing to ignore the fact as you walked around the ornate furniture in his room and made your way to his side. Upon reaching him, you peered over his shoulder and scanned the books littered across his desk.

"The Butterfly Lovers?" you read aloud, and Kouen looked at you from the corner of his eye, his interest piqued. 

He watched as you took the book from his grasp and almost immediately, your gaze lit up, lips tugging happily.

He found himself unsurprised. "You know of the story."

”You haven't?" you asked, sounding a little bit too cheerful that he hadn’t, but he chose not to comment on your tone. ”Father and I saw a play about it a little while ago. Isn't it so romantic?" 

Again, Kouen chose not to comment. He did not find it romantic or interesting, though he did appreciate the writing style. Rather, he found it conflicting, how such a nonsensical story could achieve such fame. 

In spite of it, you began to animatedly talk about the tale, and your favourite scenes. Your eyes were bright and your hands made exaggerated movements in the air, and if he were honest, then Kouen found this much more interesting than the novel he had been reading. Still, in the back of his mind, he hoped that none of his younger siblings would come to romanticize such foolishness.

After a while, you lost interest in the topic and roamed around his room as if it were your own while inquiring about his day and immersing yourself in casual conversation. You picked up whatever caught your interest, eyes full of wonder and curiosity. It went on for a few minutes before you paused at his bookshelf and chose a book, then settled yourself at a seat near the entrance of his room. Then leisurely, you raised your feet up onto your seat and poured yourself a cup of tea, with the book in your other hand.

Kouen did not comment about your casualty and let you do whatever you wanted. He was used to it, after all. The room that he called his wasn’t really his, when it came to you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be having lessons with Koumei?” he suddenly asked.

You visibly twitched, then frowned, and although it was unintentional, the force that you set down your cup of tea was harsher than intended. The sound of porcelain clanked loudly in the otherwise quiet room and you placed your legs down from the chair.

“Lessons are over,” you replied curtly, but even through the few words, Kouen still felt like he could hear the annoyance in your voice. 

“Where is he, then?” Kouen asked, and when you twitched one more, he presumed his answer. “He fell asleep.”

“Honestly!” you cried. “Your brother promised me he’d go with me to the market after class! Instead, he fell asleep right at his desk and wouldn’t budge no matter how hard I tried to awaken him! What kind of brother do you have, Kouen?! Why can’t he be more serious?” 

Inwardly, Kouen sighed. This was not a new situation to him. Koumei was always falling asleep at random intervals, sometimes in-between speeches or actions, but mostly when it involved you. He suspected that sometimes his younger brother did it on purpose just to annoy you, but whenever Kouen asked him about it, Koumei would always claim innocence. Thus, the elder of the two was always left to clean up his messes. 

Then again, you also should have been used to it by now. You should have known better than to believe someone who was notoriously low in energy and narcoleptic, but instead, you fell for his empty promises each and every time. 

“As his jiejie, then you should look after him well, shouldn’t you?” Even if Koumei was at fault, ditching him wasn’t responsible of you either. 

“I am only his jiejie in formality,” you murmured. “As his older _blood_ brother, you should teach him better.”

He saw the way that you shrunk back in your spot, almost as if in effort to deflect from the implication. He wanted to laugh, but, knowing that it would only further irritate you, he refrained from doing so. 

“Duly noted,” Kouen said. “I will ensure that Koumei stay awake the next time that you have plans.” 

His words were only half-sincere — he knew nothing could get Koumei to stay awake even if he wanted to, but the more genuine part acknowledged that he would still try to force Koumei to stay awake. After all, if you wanted it, then there was no saying “no”.

You sniffed, not hearing the insincerity in his words, and said, “That’s good. Koumei listens to you.”

He snorted once in response, but otherwise did not say anything else. A comfortable silence swept over the room as you started to read the book that you had taken, and Kouen also returned to his own studies. The opinion he had of The Butterfly Lovers was promptly discarded, pushed away to the back of his mind, and soon enough, even the book itself had become buried underneath his other documents. 

Time passed calmly and quickly between the two of you. When Kouen looked up, the sun was bright through his open windows. You still hadn’t moved from your earlier position, but this time, there was a tranquil quality to your presence. Your gaze was focused on the book before you so you didn’t notice him staring, and when you reached for your teacup with your other hand, he smiled. At times like this, you looked more mature and different from your usual lively self. 

You might have called Koumei young at times and teasingly nicknamed him _Meimei_ , but you were not much older than him. You did not often act it either, and though Kouen did not usually fancy the company of those younger than him — he often found it too bothersome to deal with immaturity — someway, somehow, he had built a tolerance for you over the years. Or, to be more accurate, he had never particularly found you dislikable. Perhaps it was because despite your vibrance, you didn’t overdo it. You knew the importance of time and place, and of social standing, and though you were of high-lineage, you didn’t become arrogant even if you were at times, mischievous.

Nevertheless, this was a relationship already predetermined before birth; you and Koumei were considered famously amongst the palace “bosom friends” due to your close age. Your mothers had actually been pregnant at around the same time, although you were born a few months earlier than Koumei. In theory, you and him should have been more compatible but it seemed like you two were more similar to a cat and dog, and somewhere along the way, Kouen had been dragged into the peculiar relationship and became nearly inseparable from the both of you. Whether it because of your own doing, his, or someone else’s entirely, that was still uncertain. However, most were inclined to believe that it had been mostly your own doing for even if society had dictated it thus, hearts would never waver unless sincerity played a hand in it. 

It was at this moment that the doors slowly opened and a familiar voice spoke. Kouen caught from the corner of his eye how you had attempted to make yourself smaller in your seat, and how you had brought up your book to cover your face. Though you made no sounds, he was able to see clearly how your shoulders shook, presumably laughing, and he wondered what for. It wasn’t until Koumei came closer did Kouen realize his answer. 

“Lunch has been prepared,” Koumei announced, suppressing a tired yawn. “It’ll be set in the Peony Pavilion.” 

Amusement lit Kouen’s features as he rose from his seat, and he glanced in your direction once again. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “It _is_ a nice day, after all.”

You snorted and promptly hopped off of your seat, and skipped past Koumei without saying anything. Your lack of acknowledgement towards him left him confused and he wondered if you were still annoyed that he hadn’t gone with you to the market. But any and all apologies he thought of in his head were dismissed in the following moments. 

Kouen walked over and slipped him a handkerchief. “Your face, brother.”

Still confused, Koumei took hold of the silk fabric and cautiously dabbed at his face, wondering what was the problem. Yet when he glanced down at the once pristine handkerchief, he saw that it had become stained by ink. 

He realized, he should have never let down his guard around you.

Ahead of him, Kouen fell into step beside you as you led the way to the pavilion. It was indeed a beautiful day, with the flowers in bloom and the birds chirping nearby. But, in a moment of surprise, he froze in his step. A pair of swallowtail butterflies rested upon the peony flowers that skirted along the edge of the path. They stayed there for only a quick moment before fluttering way, perhaps alerted by the presence of human beings nearby. 

Yet even as they ascended high into the sky, he could not stop staring. 

When you realized that he had stopped following, you turned around and tilted your head in wonder at why he had paused like so. “Is there something wrong, Kouen?” you asked. 

He paused yet again, his gaze never leaving the butterflies until he could no longer follow them with his eyes, then shook his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

You hummed. You weren’t sure if you believed him, but said nothing more and continued on, and behind you, Koumei caught up to his older brother. He had witnessed the exchanged that had gone on, and had also noticed the abnormality of the scene. 

“It’s not usually their season, is it?” he asked. 

Kouen nodded his head. This was indeed not the season for those butterflies to appear. However, he supposed, as he glanced at your back, it was no matter. An irregularity or two were sure to happen every now and then. After all, hadn’t that been the case with you? 

What he did not realize at the time was that if one were to get used to an irregularity, then it would become the norm — and your presence in his life had become a daily and undeniably interwoven with his.


End file.
